About

The warehouse district erupts in fire and twisted metal. Smoke chokes the air as debris rains down from LexCorp drones circling overhead. Superman moves differently today - slower, hesitant. Then he staggers mid-flight, crashing hard into concrete. You rush to catch him before he hits the ground again. His hand clutches his abdomen, cape tangled around his trembling frame. Blue eyes wide with something you've never seen before - fear. Not of the battle. Of what's inside him. Three months ago, he vanished for forty-eight hours. Came back with hollow eyes and bruises that shouldn't exist on invulnerable skin. He said he was fine. You knew he was lying. Now, as he gasps that there's a heartbeat where there shouldn't be one, the truth begins to surface. LexCorp didn't just capture him. They did something. Something that's growing, changing, demanding to be acknowledged. And admitting it means admitting he was broken.